


The Nearer the Destination

by muzzleofbees



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 2014!verse, M/M, fic prompt, future!verse, human cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 04:50:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muzzleofbees/pseuds/muzzleofbees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: future!cas is getting ready for bed when future!dean slams the door open to his bunk- whiskey in hand. "Cas--we need to talk". Cas rolls his eyes, "Dean you never want to talk when you come in...." Cas's words are cut off when a piercing scream is heard from the camp. "They breached the camp!!!" a loud voice yells above gunfire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Nearer the Destination

Dean reacts quickly, the bottle disappearing, replaced by a gun. “Stay right here.” 

“Dean--” 

“Don’t fucking move. I mean it, Cas. I want you right here when I get back.” 

It wasn’t his words that stilled Cas’s tongue--it was the look in his eyes. He was an expert on the subject of Dean Winchester’s eyes, and when they took on that flinty, cold shade of green, he kept his mouth shut. Dean disappeared, firing shots as soon as the door closed behind him. Cas reached for the whisky with a trembling hand, drinking a long gulp directly from the bottle. It burned the back of his throat and stung his nose, but it didn’t ease the churning in his gut, or the shaking in his fingers. 

He didn’t know what Dean wanted to talk about, but he knew it was probably a conversation he didn’t want to have. A conversation he would definitely be having because Dean would be done shooting soon, and then he would remember that he was drinking. Cas couldn’t count on much these days, but he couldn’t go wrong counting on those two facts. 

Ten minutes later, Dean returned with a clenched jaw and new tension around his eyes. Cas silently handed him the bottle, not disguising his wince when Dean downed half of what remained in the bottle. 

“We need to talk.” 

“I think you need a pot of coffee.” 

“Shut up.” 

“Dean--” 

Dean pointed at him with the hand clutching the bottle. “I said shut up. We’re going to talk, goddamnit.” 

“Fine.” Cas folded his arms. “Talk.” 

Dean took a deep breath, nostrils flaring, opening and closing his mouth once before lowering his arm. Cas arched his eyebrow-- _I’m waiting_ \--and Dean seemed to shrink right before his eyes. Cas exhaled a long breath and closed the distance between them, gently taking the bottle from Dean’s weary fingers, easing the gun out of the clutch of his right hand. 

“Cas--” His name was drenched in whiskey, more of a breath than a word. Cas’s heart jumped to his throat. He was still aware of his heart beat all of the time, still adjusting to the strangeness of his body marking the passage of every second, and never did it beat as erratically as when Dean stood that close to him. He dipped his head slightly, letting his jaw barely brush against Dean’s. It was a test. A question he always needed to ask. 

Would Dean take the bait? 

Dean turned his head and caught Cas’s mouth, his lips still wet with alcohol, his lip and chin rough with a day’s growth of hair. Cas closed his eyes and buried both hands in Dean’s hair, clutching his fingers into fists as his tongue invaded Dean’s mouth. He always kissed Dean the same way--like it was their first time and like it would be their last time. He could never quite believe it was happening, could never get over his fear that it would be taken from him in the blink of an eye. 

Cas knew what to do. He hadn’t learned much since he fell from Heaven, but he knew all the secrets of pleasure. Had learned his technique at the knee of the Master, and he wasn’t above turning those techniques on the man who taught him. He pulled away the layers of Dean’s clothes, keeping his mouth engage while he stripped him down. Despite the layers, Dean was always so easy to undress, so cooperative and graceful. Even when he was drunk and half-dead on his feet. He had Dean completely naked before pushing him down to the rumpled sheets and the pillow still warm from Cas’s head. 

“Cas...why won’t you let me talk to you?” 

“I don’t see a ball gag in your mouth.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

“I never knew Dean Winchester to be particularly chatty.” 

Dean grabbed a handful of Cas’s hair and yanked his head back, the ice creeping back into his eyes. “Maybe you never knew me well at all.” 

Cas responded with a hard kiss, claiming Dean’s mouth with unforgiving strength, using the full force of his body to silence Dean. To show him precisely how well he knew him--which was inside and out. He knew every fact and every feeling, every truth and every lie, and he’d been there for the betrayals. He hoped to witness a redemption someday. Prayed Dean would finally have the miracle he deserved, but God was as silent, as absent, as ever. 

When he broke from the kiss, Dean’s lips were swollen and his eyes were heavy-lidded and heated, the ice completely melted away. He pull Cas against him before he even had the chance to catch his breath, his teeth hard and sharp over Cas’s bruised lips. Cas knew why Dean wanted to talk, but Dean didn’t have to say a word to communicate what was on his mind. He used his body and his eyes, the pressure of his touch, the hunger and desperation fueling every second between them. 

Cas went through his preparations quickly. His dick was hard and slick, but he still spread lube over his shaft. He hoarded it like Chuck hoarded toilet paper, precisely for this reason. Dean would let himself be fucked with or without lube, but Cas couldn’t stand the friction, the way it felt like Dean’s body resisted him, the twist of pain on Dean’s face when he finally stabbed in. He reached down with his slick fingers, slipping his hand between Dean’s thigh and rubbing the remaining lube over his tight pucker. Dean flexed and moaned, pausing the kiss to gasp for breath, his mouth still on Castiel’s. 

Dean mouthed his way along Cas’s jaw to his ear. “I’m going to say it one day. Whether or not you want to hear it.” 

Cas smiled was sad. Nothing stopped Dean from saying it now, except Dean himself. Cas never gagged him, never told him to shut up, never avoided the conversation--not really. He provided a distraction, gave Dean, a man of action, a chance to show him. But he never _stopped_ Dean from uttering the confession he clearly longed to make. Still, he’d accept the blame. If it made Dean feel better. 

He pressed the tip of his cock to Dean’s entrance and Dean did the rest, gripping the base of Cas’s shaft and shifting his weight forward, guiding him deep inside his tight body. They breathed heavily against each other’s necks, Cas managing to hold his moans at bay by kissing and biting over the tight tendons beneath Dean’s ear. 

Cas closed his eyes as the heat of Dean’s body engulfed him. He was so tight, and so strong, his body so solid and perfect beneath him. Neither one of them could say another word from that point. They kept their mouths busy, both of them too afraid of what might slip out if they weren’t kissing or sucking or nibbling or biting. Both of them visible marks--deep purple kisses in the shape of their mouths. Dean would be annoyed with him in the morning, growling at Cas through his hangover as he tried to hide the marks with his collar. And Cas would grin at him from the bed, too lazy to get himself dressed, no desire to join Dean on his morning patrol. No desire to leave the house at all, really. By some miracle, Dean had merely accepted that fact, never once suggesting Cas do anything he didn’t want to do, exempting him from the duties and chores everybody else was expected to perform to keep the camp alive. 

It was almost enough to make Cas believe he might be special. 

Dean liked it rough, and Cas hated to disappoint him. At times, it felt more like a fight than a dance, the two of them scratching and struggling against each other, pushing back and crashing together again. Dean was stronger than him, but he never used all of his strength, never resisted Castiel for very long. And when Cas got a good, hard rhythm going, Dean melted like ice cream, tilting his head back slightly, the fight gone from him. 

These days, Castiel mostly lived for that one moment. That tiny second of surrender. Dean never had to summon the strength to say the words he always threatened Cas with. He only needed to yield himself up, and Cas understood everything perfectly. That was when he held Dean the closest, when he allowed the moans to escape his throat. That was when he could pretend for a few moments that everything was fine. 

That he and Dean weren’t slipping away into their bloody destiny.


End file.
